


Bricks are Heavy

by ninhursag



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Extremely Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, Love at First Sight, M/M, Ronan Lynch can't resist Adam Parrish, Ronan still somehow manages to be soft, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, demeaning language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Kavinsky tries to seduce Ronan by hiring a hooker. It doesn't work out like he was hoping, but Ronan might be seduced anyway.Mind the tags.**"What do you say, Lynch?" K asked when he slammed his way into the overpriced hotel room. "We can split him.""Fuck off, man," Ronan said clearly, while the him in question just stood there, tapping his sneaker against the floor. The hooker. The prostitute. The one Kavinsky had dragged in behind him, threadbare t-shirt tight on his slim shoulders, homemade haircut and a blandly bored smile, like a kid behind the counter at McDonald's asking if you wanted fries with that.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Adam Parrish, Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Bricks are Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for more specific warnings but please mind the tags. Sorry, my plan is to write a much softer college AU next but this idea would not let my brain go. 
> 
> Very au, no timeline.

"What do you say, Lynch?" K asked when he slammed his way into the overpriced hotel room. "We can split him."

"Fuck off, man," Ronan said clearly, while the him in question just stood there, tapping his sneaker against the floor. The hooker. The prostitute. The one Kavinsky had dragged in behind him, threadbare t-shirt tight on his slim shoulders, homemade haircut and a blandly bored smile, like a kid behind the counter at McDonald's asking if you wanted fries with that.

He'd probably ask about blowjobs. Do you want your dick sucked with your fries? 

He was pretty though, blue eyed with slim, elegant hands, fine fingered and rough skinned. Not that Ronan was really looking.

When he spoke, he had a honey soft and slippery country accent. "Costs extra," he said, with that bland customer service smile. “Splitting.”

Kavinsky rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling some bills and throwing them at the boy, uncounted. 

"I didn't say I was interested," Ronan said. “This isn’t my scene.”

"Don’t fake it, I know what you are,” K smiled, like Ronan’s glare fed him. “You can watch. For now." 

Ronan shrugged and looked away, not committing to it. It was disgusting. Being with a guy who did it for money, with anyone. But what the fuck did he care?

He watched anyway.

The nameless boy picked up the money off the floor and made it disappear. His expression didn't change, but Ronan had his eyes on his hands instead. They tightened deliberately, too steady. Anger written in bony knuckles, nothing on his face.

He couldn’t look away, seeing that. His fingers itched to interrupt, he couldn’t say why he didn’t.

K was not gentle or careful. Ronan could tell, but not because the boy winced, he didn’t. He sat back and glared at them, fingers twitching in irritation.

It wasn’t like dreaming sex, more like watching it on a screen. K looked amused. The boy looked tired except when he looked bored except when he looked like he wanted to burn the room and everything in it to the ground. You could respect that. But it wasn't comfortable watching.

His t-shirt stayed on the whole time, jeans around his ankles through most of it. There were bruises on his bare thighs and thin wrists. Whatever he was doing with his mouth it made Kavinsky smile and lick his lips.

“You’re missing out, queer boy,” he told Ronan, tugging the boy’s hair up and up and ignoring the choked off noise. “I bet old Dick doesn’t lick dick this good.” And then he thrust up and Ronan looked, away, his fists clenching and unclenching. Discomfort and hot confusion shifting hard into anger.

“You want me to punch you when you’re getting laid?” he asked. “Because that sounded like an invitation to punch you.”

K laughed, sharp and horny, making a beckoning hand, the other with its scraped up nails digging into dirty, messy blond hair. 

Ronan’s eyes narrowed and he was on his feet, like that, red hazing his vision. It was not his finest moment, but the fact he hadn’t left when this whole thing started put him right up into shit moments anyway. Pretending this shit had nothing to do with him was just a fucking lie and then feel of his knuckles crashing into Kavinsky’s jaw, bright swathe of pain, that was good and cleaner than any of the rest of it.

The boy scampered back and fell on his ass, mouth wet and red, gagging at the force of it while Ronan knocked K into the bed, into the wall, down and hit him again.

There was blood on Kavinsky’s mouth, just like that, on Ronan’s knuckles. K was left bare from the waist down, his still hard cock bobbing and spit soaked, a ridiculous red. 

Ronan ignored it, like it wasn’t right there, waving in his face. “Invitation accepted, asshole,” he said. 

“Hey, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Kavinsky spat back once he wiped the blood off with his palm, but not to Ronan, over to the boy scrambling to his feet instead. “I haven’t even fucking come yet, you stay the fuck where I put you.” 

The response was even, steady, cutting right through Ronan’s red haze. He liked that boy’s voice, he decided. It sounded better without seeing the dull eyed smile accompanying it. “You two look like you’re having enough fun without me.”

Ronan heard the sound of jeans being zipped up, emphatically.

“Well, no one hit you, whore boy,” Kavinsky said, shrugging and licking his split lip. "Maybe if you put some effort into seducing Ronan, here, he’d be less fucking uptight and you could earn what I gave you.” 

The boy licked chapped looking lips and gave a glare of such profound and put upon irritation that Ronan smiled. 

Kavinsky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that," he said, like that was a response. “He likes the bitchy ones. I paid you to do both of us.”

There was a sharp headshake, as the boy adjusted his shirt. He was already gone. “You paid me for my ass, not to get in the middle of an asshole fight and he is obviously not down for this. I’m out.”

Ronan watched, cracking his knuckles. He took his eyes off K, which turned out to be a mistake. He saw it in the boy’s eyes before he heard it.

The sound of a safety clicking off the gun. Ronan jerked around and K was smirking, easy about it, blood still drying on his face. “Our fucking whore is interested in your consent, Ronan, so I need you to consent.” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan spat reflexively, up on the balls of his feet, like that was going to do some good. Maybe if he was fast enough, if Kavinsky was just being a fuckhole. 

“Nah, I’m not going that far, baby,” K sneered. “Do him. He’s worth it, I promise.”

“How about no,” Ronan said. He was between K and the boy now, but the distance wasn’t in his favor. And who knew what the gun could do, if it was a real thing or a dream thing, what the end goal was. “You’re not gonna shoot me, so stop pretending you will.”

"True.” K laughed, loud and proud. “I won’t shoot you. That might be going too far. But, here’s the thing, Lynch, if you don't fuck him, then I'll shoot _him_. He's literally street trash, no one’s even gonna give a shit." Kavinsky was smiling, proud of himself, shiny gun loose in his hand.

Ronan shot a quick glance behind him. The boy, still nameless, did not look angry anymore, or irritated. He looked vacant instead. Maybe scared, maybe too gone for that. Still. Wide eyed. His lips parted. He didn't say anything.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ronan demanded, his own anger flaring out the rational.

"I'll shoot him. Who cares? I picked him up on a street corner and I'll dump him in the trash. Do you care, baby? He’s pretty."

The boy backed up, to the wall, finally-- "Look--" he whispered. "Wait. This is fine. I--"

K ignored him, eyes on Ronan. "C'mon, Lynch. Fuck the trash or I'll take it out. It doesn't matter to me."

The boy didn't object again, he was staring at the gun barrel, hypnotized. Mouse and a snake. Blue eyes still glazed over. He didn't look at Ronan for help, still, even yet.

Ronan knew without being told that he didn't expect it. He did not expect to be saved, even with Ronan’s body in front of his.

There were no words for that. Ronan was up, eyes on Kavinsky and the gun, mouth stretched and unsmiling, still keeping himself in front of the boy.

"You," he told Kavinsky, "are fucked in the head. You don’t get to do this."

"Fuck him," Kavinsky laughed. "Or I'll shoot him. Maybe not today, but I'll find him on a street, pop him in the back and leave him on your lawn. And no one will care. Do you care?"

Ronan could almost feel the boy behind him, cold and blank faced with expressive hands.

He turned around again, all the way. Took in a deep, red filled breath. The boy didn’t seem to see him, he looked past him into the middle distance. Resigned, exhausted and scared.

And that was it, no more of this shit, Ronan was moving hard and fast and fuck the gun, let K shoot him, just let him, he knocked it right out of his hand.

K went down easy, like he’d meant to do that all long. Ronan didn’t stop hitting him this time, didn’t pay attention to anything else. Crack. Spatter. Crunch. If his knuckles bruised he couldn’t feel it. 

“What. the. fuck. is. your. damage,” he punctuated with his fists. 

“Give it to me, baby,” K slurred, blood pouring now instead of dripping. 

Ronan gave it to him. And just didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until a shaky hand, steady voice, just about yelled in his ear. Ice through the haze. 

“Don’t kill him. Stop. Stop.” 

Ronan didn’t take orders, not ever. Not when he was like this, lost in the rhythm and the sensation and the pure hate. 

He stopped. Took a breath. K was curled in on himself, breathing, gurgling. Time seemed to pause. 

He waited. The boy took a step up closer. Ronan barely took a moment to note that he was holding the gun, gingerly, like he wasn’t completely sure how. He’d been a lot surer what to do with a cock and… yeah.

Kavinsky gurgled and laughed. And spat blood and laughed. “Gimme that queer ultraviolence. Living for it.”

Ronan shook out his fist, and looked at the boy, who was looking back at him, shaking his head, just slightly. He shrugged. Rolled his shoulders up to his neck like he was easing a nonexistent cramp.

The boy was quiet, watching. Assessing. Dirty worn sneakers back on his feet, but still not laced up. He wasn’t anyone, he was…

"Why don't you get out?" he heard himself say. “Fuck off under a rock.”

K laughed at him, like he didn’t get it. "Why, is that what this is about? You jealous he got to go first? You can have me, baby, you’re the one who made this hard." 

But Ronan couldn’t be fucked about that. 

The boy shrugged fluidly, like he had already tuned them both out a while ago, and leaned down to finish lacing up his sneakers.

"No," Ronan said. He shook his head, touched the boy loose on the wrist and shoved at K with the toe of his boot. "Not him. You. Get out." The boy swung around and blinked up at him. His eyes were a clear, startled blue. He did not look like he was about to upsell a value meal anymore, he didn't look like he wasn't there anymore.

Then he sat down, his jeans were pulled up but riding low enough that Ronan could see a little bit of everything.

"You kidding me?" K demanded. 

Ronan bared his teeth. "You pulled a gun on me, why would I bother to kid you?"

The boy laughed then, and it sounded good. Pretty. Surprised. “You’re insane,” he said, like he was thinking this through. “Both of you.” He stayed sitting down. He held onto the gun too, with a careful touch. Black metal in those hands.

“It wasn’t on you, Lynch,” now K sounded almost placating. 

Ronan shrugged. “I could throw you out, man.” He got up to do that. 

K said something else, but it was just jabber, more filth, it didn’t matter. “You don’t get it,” Ronan said. “You don’t get me. That doesn’t happen.”

“And what, and street trash does?” K spat, while Ronan dragged him up by the shirt. 

Ronan shrugged.

When Kavinsky was locked on the other side, the boy put the gun down on the nightstand, like it had stung him. 

“Thanks,” he said. Not much more. “What now?”

Ronan massaged his knuckles and looked away. Mumbled, “Quis tibi, saeve puer, dedit hoc in carmina iuris.”

That startled a laugh out of the boy, who said, “if you just insulted my mother, she probably deserves it. My dad definitely does.” 

Ronan smiled then. Looked. “I didn’t,” he said. 

There was a pause. “Ok. Just me then.” Another pause. “I don’t like violence. So, if that was supposed to get me hot…”

Ronan’s smile widened. “No, that was for me.” He sucked in his lower lip.

“Ok.” He took a noisy breath. “Then what?”

"I don't pay people to fuck," Ronan said with studied casualness. He sat down on the bed, putting them both at the same height.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Well I like having groceries and getting fucked keeps them coming." He didn't look like they were coming enough, with the way his ribs showed when he was shirtless but Ronan shrugged.

"Come home with me and I'll keep you fed." He hadn't meant to say it but once the words came out they were completely sincere.

That got another laugh, this one incredulous. “Oh wow, bless your heart, dumbass. How is that not paying people to fuck?”

Ronan’s mouth twisted but he was still smiling at the end of it. “Are you questioning the underpinnings of relationships without money involved?”

“Do you even know my name, Ronan Lynch?” he spat instead of answering.

“Well, you could share it,” he pointed out. 

"I don't need saving," he said instead of sharing it, thin lipped and fine boned and pressed tightly closed. "This isn't Pretty Woman with fisticuffs, you don't get to be the hero."

Fisticuffs. Ha. "Maybe I do," Ronan said, all impulse because it seemed like he was getting up to go, and that wasn’t-- not yet. 

It stopped him in his tracks. “What?” 

In for a penny. “You heard me. Maybe I need saving. Maybe I need it. Have you considered how I got here?”

“Because you’re a fucking psycho?” the boy offered. But he’d stopped looking like he was about to flee again. “Is that guy really gonna axe murder me in an alley?”

Ronan shook his head and said, “better stay out of alleys just to be sure.”

“Adam,” the boy said. Ronan blinked and frowned. That earned him a sigh. “That’s my name. Since you were interested.”

Ronan shifted closer. He-- Adam-- flinched. Why-- he looked down, and there was blood on his hands. K’s blood.

Adam shrugged like he knew what Ronan was thinking. “I told you, I don’t like violence.” He stopped, looked up from under pale lashes. Like he was waiting. 

For what, for what? An objection? A blow? He was loose, but not like he was relaxed. Like he was ready to flow into a blow if it came. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Ronan said.

“It doesn’t get me off,” Adam repeated, as if Ronan hadn’t spoken.

Ok. “What does?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. He shrugged, palms open. Looked down and back up. Clear eyed. Nervous? When he swallowed, his throat moved. He smelled like sex. I don’t know, he’d said. “Does it matter?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, so I don’t know either,” Ronan offered. “This is going to be the first time.”

Adam stared at him. His lips were pale and thin. Ronan leaned in, slow enough to be evaded, and kissed him, soft, gentle, open mouthed. He tasted like sex too, like the way it tasted to lick a hand you’d used to jerk yourself. That would be what it was like to blow Kavinsky.

No. 

His lips parted, but Ronan didn’t pursue, it wasn’t an opening, he could see that. There was a moment of nothing, stillness. Hesitation.

He pulled back. Adam reached up, touching his own lips. His fingers shook a little. Long and tanned and fine boned. “Psycho,” he whispered, but not like he meant it. 

Ronan swallowed. Waited. 

“Why would you make me your first kiss?” Adam asked. Fingers still pressed to his lips like he didn’t know how they were there. 

“Why the fuck not?” Ronan said. 

Adam waited again. His fingers were still trembling. He closed his eyes. “Ok,” he said. He leaned in.

It was a better kiss this time with Adam driving it. Slower, wetter. Still exquisitely gentle. Warm. 

“Come home with me,” Ronan murmured into his mouth.

A breath, almost like a sob. “I won’t stay.”

Ronan didn’t argue, he didn’t need to. There'd be time later.

**Author's Note:**

> Sex worker Adam with discussion of economic coercion. Threats of rape. No sex actually happens where there is an explicitly stated no, but there are very definite consent issues. There are canon typical violent moments.
> 
> Nothing nonconsensual happens between Ronan and Adam.


End file.
